


C for Catnap

by sweetly_disposed



Series: Alphabetical [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cats, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetly_disposed/pseuds/sweetly_disposed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis takes in a stray cat...although it's perhaps not as stray as he first thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C for Catnap

Louis is roused from sleep by a noise that is gone as quickly as it came.

In the drifting space between sleeping and waking he listens for a second, but all that meets his ears is silence. After a moment more of complete quiet he shrugs it off as being a passing bird or something and turns over onto his right side to attempt to get back to sleep. He's almost there, just on the border of unconsciousness, when the noise happens again. With his eyes still closed Louis frowns, ears honing in on the sound. For one lucid moment he thinks his fridge is playing up again, and that the drawn-out, high pitched sound is coming from his kitchen.

It's not, though, and when it sounds again Louis cracks open his eyes, turning back over to face his window. The curtains are drawn across it, but there is no mistaking that the sound is coming from his windowsill. One of Louis' hands reaches clumsily for his phone, and when he clicks it on he almost groans. Quarter past four in the morning. He still has four hours before he needs to get up for work. Whatever it is outside his window needs to leave. Now.

The urge to just shove a pillow over his head to drown out his unwanted alarm is overpowered by his curiosity to find out what it is, so Louis climbs from his warm sheets and crosses to his curtains. Peeling them open a couple of inches and squinting in the early morning light, Louis steps back when his curious peeking is met by the yellow eyes of something decidedly alive, furry and yowling louder at him.

It's a cat. A cat is on his windowsill. At four am.

Louis wrinkles his nose, wincing as the cat cries louder and louder at him, even more demanding now it knows it's got his attention. Its' sharp little canines are exposed every time it meows and it stares at Louis accusingly like Louis had been the one to put it there. Louis doesn't even know how it got up there, much less why.

"What the...?" he asks no one in particular. The cat yells even louder. It almost sounds a little indignant, which Louis didn't even know cats could do.

He peers past the cat, looking down at the ground. Even with good reflexes, it could do some damage if it fell from that distance. The little beast is someone's Mr Tufts or Princess Fluffy, and Louis doesn't really want it to come to any harm, so gingerly, he reaches up and unlocks his window. The cats' cries are almost deafening without a pane of glass in the way, and as soon as Louis has the window open just enough it scrambles inside, jumping down onto his carpet.

"Jesus," Louis mutters as it meows again. "All right, you got in. Will you shut up, now?"

The cat flicks its tail at him dismissively as then has the actual nerve, the audacity, to jump up onto Louis' bed.

"No!" Louis lurches forward, but it's too late. The cat is happily clawing at his duvet. The unmistakable sound of purring reaches Louis' ears. He stands and stares, horrified, as the cat plucks at his duvet, entire body vibrating. When it's satisfied in its destruction of Louis' bedsheets, it curls up and casually shuts its eyes.

Louis looks from his window to the cat, and then back again. Two minutes ago he didn't have a cat, and now he does. What kind of fucked up dream world has he entered? There is a stray cat on his bed. The thought flashes across his mind that it could have fleas and he peers down at it urgently, trying to see what sort of condition it's in.

Thankfully, though, it looks pretty well looked after. It's big, too. Too big to be a female. His brown and black coat is shiny and brushed, his eyes looks pretty clear and he seems to be a good weight. He must belong to someone; no stray cat looks this well groomed. He's probably just got lost, Louis thinks, and he resolves to make some posters to put up around the area...when it's not four in the morning.

He yawns. The cat doesn't stir. He does peek one eye open, though, looking at Louis as if to say, well? And Louis really is too tired to deal with kicking it out now, so he slides gingerly back into bed and lies as far away from the furry little animal as he can. He's lulled back to the sleep by the low purring coming from somewhere near his feet.

When he wakes again to the sound of his actual alarm, he forgets for a moment that he acquired a new pet during the night. As he sits up and swings his legs out of bed, though, he's met by the cat sat on his dresser, eyes fixed on him. They sit like that for a minute in a stand-off.

"That's kind of creepy, you know that?" Louis asks the cat, brain still fuzzy and incoherent enough not to question why he's talking to a cat who probably won't answer him. "The whole staring thing."

That cat flicks his tail. Louis gets up, heading towards the bedroom door. There's a thump behind him and he turns to see the cat following him, tail poker-straight in the air. When Louis opens the door he scampers past him, momentarily disappearing.

"Yeah, why not, make yourself at home," Louis mutters sarcastically. In the kitchen he fills the kettle and flicks it on, then turns to the fridge for milk. As he turns, his bare foot scuffs something furry and he flinches back, looking down. The cat stares at him from his feet.

Louis' not going to lie, he doesn't like the way cats can move without being heard. He's always been more of a dog person; you can always tell where dogs are. Cats, though, are stealthy. Sneaky.

"What?" he asks him. He meows back, long and drawn out. Louis doesn't speak cat, unfortunately, so he steps smartly around him and opens the fridge door. The cat is between his ankles before he can blink, standing on his hind legs and peering inside, little nose twitching. "Ah, right," Louis gets it. "You're hungry."

He doesn't think cats like leftover pizza, though, so he retrieves the milk and sets it down by the kettle and then roots around in his cupboards. He comes up with a tin of tuna he didn't know he had, so he opens it and empties half into a shallow dish. The cat goes crazy for it, twining around his legs and yowling again, only shutting up when Louis puts the dish down in the corner of the kitchen.

The kettle boils and Louis sets about making his tea, glancing at the cat every couple of seconds, wondering what the hell he's going to do about getting rid of it.

He ponders it throughout his day at work, both wondering what the cat is doing and hoping he hasn't peed in one of Louis' shoes. He doesn't really want to take him to a rescue center; he's probably just wandered a little too far from home, he's not really a stray. He doesn't have a collar, but there's a chance he might be microchipped. That's the solution, then, Louis decides. Take him to the nearest vet when he's next free and see if they can find his owner.

He feels quite satisfied with himself that he's manage to solve the problem of what to do with his new pet, until occurs to him at work that he's not at all equipped to look after a cat. On the way home he picks up a few pouches of food and a couple of cat bowls, as a well as a carry case. In the pet shop he pauses at the litter trays and then shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. He's not dealing with that- he'll just kick the cat out for half an hour in the evening.

"Right," he says to the cat as he licks from his newly acquired water bowl, pink little tongue lapping at the water. "Hope you're happy, now. I can't just keep calling you 'cat', though, so we need a name for you. How's...Edward?" The cat doesn't pause in his drinking. "Ok. Not Edward. You need a big, strong, name, cos you're a big, strong cat. Hercules? No. Brutus? Nah. Max?" He watches the cat for a moment. "Yeah. Maximus. Max for short. Welcome to your temporary home, Max."

Max still drinks from his bowl, not even deigning to look at Louis. That's another reason why Louis doesn't particularly like cats. They're aloof. Stuck up.

"Suit yourself," Louis mutters, before turning away to find something for dinner. As soon he's opened the fridge door Max is there, rubbing his face against Louis' calf. "What?" he asks. "I literally just put a new pack of food down for you." He points at the food bowl helpfully.

Max meows, standing on his hind legs to sniff into the fridge. Louis cottons on pretty quickly, pulling out the half empty tin of tuna. Max's cries are deafening while he swaps the food over, and Louis can hear him purring from across the kitchen when he puts it down in front of him.

"Trust me to get stuck with the fussiest cat in the world,' he grumbles, and then says louder, "I hope you appreciate your owner forking out for tuna while you ignore perfectly good cat food."

Max just ignores him. Typical.

After a few days, Louis gets off work a couple of hours early and decides to take Max to the vet. He bundles him into his carry case, swearing loudly when his claws scrape at his arms, and then secures him in the back of his car. Max tries every tactic on the drive over there, hissing at Louis from the back seat, then staring at him with big, baleful eyes, and then crying so sorrowfully Louis almost feels sorry for him. Almost. Then he shifts his hand and the scratch on his index finger throbs and he suddenly doesn't feel so bad anymore.

He balances the case in his arms up the stairs to the vets, backing in through the door and the setting Max carefully down by the reception desk. The waiting room is small and homely, various posters about animal health tacked up on the wall, along with a set of dog scales over the other side. Louis is the only person there aside from a boy who looks about his age standing at the Lost & Found board.

Louis dings the bell on the desk and then watches the boy find a place for his poster advertising a missing pet. He unfurls his poster and then reaches for a pin on the table next to him.

"Good afternoon," a short woman with a warm smile emerges from the back room. "How may I help?"

Max chooses that moment to speak up, but it's a noise Louis hasn't heard him make before. It's a chirping sound, followed by a wail, and then he chirps again. Louis raises an eyebrow down at him before turning back to the receptionist. Before he can open his mouth, though, the boy at the noticeboard gasps loudly and whirls around.

"William?" he says, and Max wails. "William!"

He hurries over to Louis, peering into the case before making a delighted sound and clicking the locks open, reaching inside and pulling Max out.

"Er," Louis says. "Excuse me? Would you mind unhanding my cat?"

The boy looks at him properly then, curling Max into his chest as he regards Louis. Louis looks him up and down. Even through his surprise he's unable to ignore how fit this boy in front of him is. He's got shoulder length hair framing his big eyes, stupid hipsterish ripped jeans that actually look amazing on him, and he's wearing a shirt that is so thin Louis thinks he can see his skin through it. In any other situation, Louis would definitely be trying to get his number. Not now, though. Not when this stranger is holding Max and looking at Louis accusingly.

"Your cat?" he says. "This is my cat."

"Right," Louis nods. "I don't know you, so if you'd please put Max back in his case-"

"Max?" the boy scoffs. "His name is William."

Louis squints. This boy is fit, but clearly he's a sandwich short of a picnic. "What sort of name is William for a cat?" He shakes his head dismissively, "Nevermind. Look, I'm here because Max here is lost, so I'm trying to found out who his owner is."

The boys looks at him like he's lost his mind. "How do you think I know William's name?" On cue, Max meows, butting his head against the boy's chin. He purrs when he gets a scratch under the chin. "I know," the boy murmurs to him gently, just loud enough for Louis to hear. "Did the bad man catnap you?"

"What?!" Louis stares, outraged. "You think I stole him? For your information, he just turned up on my windowsill one night! You should be thanking me, cos he's a pain in the arse! I've fed and watered your little beast for the past few days. I could have taken him to the rescue center!"

"And you couldn't bring him here sooner?! This is the first time he's disappeared, I've been worried sick!"

Louis is all ready to have a go at him for that, but when he looks at the boy properly, he sees that does look a little stressed. Couple that with his death-grip on Max, well, Louis maybe feels a little bad now for taking so long to come to the vets.

"Do you two need any help?" The receptionist cuts in, startling them both out of their argument.

"No, thank you," Louis tells her, and she disappears into the back room again, bead curtain rattling in her wake. The boy bends down to put Max back in his cage, and to Louis' disgust he goes in willingly on the first try, not a claw in sight.

Once he's straightened back up again, the boy pulls out a piece of paper from his back pocket, unfolding it and handing it to Louis. There is no denying that the cat on the poster underneath the word 'MISSING' is Max- or William. Louis just nods wordlessly and hands it back.

"Did you give him tuna?" the boy asks softly when he's tucked the paper away again. "'Cos that's all he'll eat. That, or fresh chicken."

"Yeah, I worked that out on the first day. Well, next time he decides to wander off and get into strangers' bedrooms, you should send him with a manual telling people how to look after him, yeah? Maybe attach it to his collar?" Louis' tone is biting, even though he doesn't really mean it to be.

"There's no need to be like that," the boy grumbles.

"There's no need to accuse me of stealing your cat," Louis shoots back, and then really does feel bad. The boy does look upset, now, even if he is overjoyed to get his cat back.

"Look, I'm sorry. I've just been so worried, you know? I've had William for years and, like I said, this is the first time he's wandered off. I believe you, I'm sorry for having a go."

Louis doesn't reply. After a moment his anger seeps away, and he admits defeat and holds his right hand out. "I'm Louis. Nice to meet you. Glad I could return Max, er, William, to you."

The boys smiles and takes his hand. "Harry," he says. "Thanks for looking after him."

"Hey, cat-sitting is something I might take up in the future," Louis jokes, and then shakes his head. "Actually, no, never. William sheds everywhere. And he got into my-"

"Into your laundry basket? Uh huh," Harry finishes. "Clean laundry is one of his favourite things. I have to hide mine at home."

Louis chuckles, "I'm gonna have to do it all again. Doesn't matter, though, I didn't actually mind having him around. He is rather cute. You obviously take really good care of him. He's lucky." Louis glances at his watch. He has nowhere to be, but he's conscious that Harry might want to get William home. "Anyway," he says. "I'd better get going. See you later, Ma-William. Sorry. You'd think I'd be able to remember that- William is my middle name."

Harry looks interested at that. "It is? Fancy that. Almost like fate that he ended up at your window, then. Or something." He looks Louis up and down again, and Louis flushes a little under his gaze. "You know, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe you could come round sometime, to check on William. If you think you're going to miss him, that is."

Louis tilts his head to the left, an amused smile pulling at his lips. "You barely know me. And I stole your cat."

Harry laughs then, tipping his head back and exposing his white teeth. His eyes are soft when he looks at Louis again. "Okay, well maybe you could take me to dinner, you know, to apologise for catnapping William."

Louis can't help but grin at that. "Yeah, I suppose I should apologize. Eight on Friday any good for you?"

William mewls from their feet and Harry laughs. "William approves. It's a date."


End file.
